


The best of birthdays

by asparagusmama



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Shoes and Musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or Shoes and Musicals.</p><p>Lewis spoils James for his 31st birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The best of birthdays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baskervwatson](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=baskervwatson).



> Set between season 4 and 5 or during season 5, whatever you prefer. Can be seen as canon divergence and/or not season 7&8 compliant or Lewis dumps James at a later date, again, whatever you prefer.

James woke up to diffused, weak, autumnal sunlight pouring in through the curtains. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. He had expected to wake up alone, at home. That it had all been a dream. Everything was fuzzy, but he could make out the light shape of the hotel window, a light brown rectangle of sun shining through blinds, a fuzzy line of light where they didn’t quite meet. The bed was huge and soft, warm and safe. At least, he felt safe. He propped himself up on his elbow and turned. There was Robbie Lewis, sound asleep, flat on his back, snoring slightly, a dark shadow on his chin and cheeks. James wondered if he had seen him unshaved?

Yes, probably. A late night/early morning body. On a bad day, when the miss of his wife was like a kick in the guts and all he could do was pull himself out of bed and into a suit and out to work. James hadn’t known him in the worst of those days.

He hoped he could in some small way fill that hole. He didn’t ask to replace Valerie Lewis in anyway, just to ease the loss.

Even if he had seen Lewis unshaven, it wasn’t the same as waking up beside him. Not in the least.

He was 31 years old today.

Happy birthday James! The best birthday ever.

His thirtieth had been, or so he had thought, until today.

 

“What the hell do you mean, you’ll be spending it on your own James?”

“I always do. These days.”

“Like hell you will! Right, it’s round to mine tonight; we’ll get a curry – you choice, anything. And a movie. What do you fancy? Won’t moan if it’s highbrow, needs subtitles, or even that godforsaken fantasy you like. Even Harry Potter!”

Thinking, he knows what I like, James had laughed, “Fantasy is not godforsaken. What about Narnia?”

“That’s the Lion and the Witch and the Wardrobe, and that, right? Suppose not. Just so bloody... Oxford. We’ll get your favourite beer too. Stay over on the sofa lad, get as drunk as you like. You’re going to be thirty! You should be out partying with your mates, not spending it with a miserable old man like me.”

James had smiled, genuinely smiled. “You’re not old Sir. Far from it. And I’m the miserable one, having no one to spend my birthday.”

“You have someone, you soft lad. Me. Why, you look so much younger when you smile like that. Should do it more often, might get a lass to look at you twice.”

“I don’t want any ‘lass’ to look at me.”

“Lad then. So, what’s the movie?”

 

James smiled to himself again. He looked at his phone. Still so early. Six am. Wasn’t technically his birthday yet, his Mum said he was born at lunchtime. Used to tease him when he was small, no James, no presents until twelve, that’s when you were born. But with a smile. When she used to smile. When they were happy. Before Augustus...

 

He didn’t have his first birthday at school, it had been half term. He had been half relieved and half dreading the return to Crevecoeur for the first time since he’d left. Twelve years old. The housemother had held tea parties in the junior common room for the other boys, with cake and all kinds of tuck their parents had sent. Even if his parents had sent him food, it would have been the wrong sort, with the wrong, too cheap, packaging. It would be embarrassing. James always worked hard to hide how not only was he on a full scholarship, but how desperately he needed it. Mortmaigne would have paid otherwise, he had offered. 

The reason he had dreaded his birthday back home.

The following year it had also been half term and the first time he saw their new home, the tiny cottage, so small compared to the farmhouse at Crevecoeur – his room just a box, with mould in the corner, and damp in the bathroom. It smelt. There had been no money, but his Dad had caught a rabbit and his mum made a cake. The difference between his suddenly even poorer family and the wealth of his schoolmates had been unbearable.

The next two birthdays didn’t even bear thinking about. His last year at school he had stayed on during half term, he was taking exams early. Him, the housemother, two masters and six other boys, all in awe of tea with the head boy. He’d have rather they had left him alone with his studies.

 

James got up, used the bathroom, pulled on his boxers and his tee, fumbled for his contacts and found the hotel room in sharp focus. His and Lewis’ – Robbie’s! – clothes strewn about. He picked them up and wondered if putting the kettle on for tea would wake Robbie. He picked up the condom and tissues and put then in the bin, blushing even no one was there to see, just the thought of the room service, the hotel’s maid, finding the soiled sheets and just knowing...

 

At Sulhamestead his fellow rookies insisted on taking him to the pub and buying him whisky sours and pints all night, until he couldn’t see straight, let alone walk straight. Someone put him to bed, a voice whispered in his memory, “Such a shame you’re a poof James, you’re gorgeous,” and his mumbled reply echoed back at him through the years,

“I sort of row a bit!”

 

Of course, his eight got him smashed on his birthday, as had the students on his staircase during his first year. He had spent his birthday in the Seminary in quiet prayer and contemplation. Celebration of birthday was a frivolous thing. Something he had not quite been unable to let go.

 

Knox hadn’t been interested. He’d fudged and pretended and tried to keep it secret for his two years probationary in uniform and with Lewis, although every year Lewis asked, looked sceptical, bought him cake and coffee, pints and pies, all the day, leaving a card with a book token the first year, a music compilation CD he had noticed James look at the second year, a silk tie the third year, then it had been curry and a DVD with beer at his flat and this year...

 

“Take it you got no plans James?”

They had been more than just friends or work colleagues for three weeks, two days and seventeen hours...

“Sir?”

“Thought I’d take you out to London. Booked us a hotel and all. Too late to cancel. Taking you to a show.”

“That’s a bit presumptive Sir, not that I’m not honoured but...”

“Come on, I do know you love a good musical, for all your ponsy music you play in your band. Shoes and musicals kind of boy, aren’t you?” and there had been a twinkle in Lewis’ eye, and it had taken James a beat to access the memory of his stupid babbling when faced with a direct question, a question he hadn’t even wanted to answer to himself, much less someone else.

“Yes there is,” he had said to Zoe Kenneth when she had said there was nothing wrong with him. Yes, there was. Something wrong with him. That had been it, he had admitted it. If he had said something to Lewis he’d have lost his temper. He had little patience for ‘religious nonsense’, but how anti-homophobic James hadn’t a clue. The police was so macho.

How was he to know his boss was bisexual?

“Shall I cancel? Come on, should have made last year special for you.”

“You did. You did Sir. What show is it?”

“Les Mis. Alright for you?”

James has smiled again. The question, one room or two, he had been too afraid to ask.

It had proved to be one room. A meal. A show. And before both; shopping.

He had been mystified when, after checking in to the hotel, Lewis had take him for a walk up Bond Street, and laughed gently when he was steered into a shop and told to choose. The joke was on him.

Shoes.

And then a musical.

Designer shoes. The best. Jimmi Choos.

“Sir, you can’t afford to...”

“My money. Morse left me loads, you know. I’m loaded lad, just don’t bang on about it. Go on, who is going to spoil you but me. You deserve it. Did no one tell you you deserve it?”

No. “I can’t... you mustn’t...?” What do I do to pay for them?

“C’mon,” Lewis said, taking his hands in his, looking up and him with such gentleness, “you’re the one that started this, with your denials and you’re half-cocked theories. And don’t say you don’t like what you see...”

“Sir. Robbie...?”

“This,” Robbie had said firmly, looking intensely in his eyes, as if he had read his suspicious mind, “is because I’m fond of you, because you deserve it, and coz I can afford it.”

So James chose two-toned winkle-pickers, that made his feet look long and elegant, looking perfect under his new, tighter trousers he had started to wear for work, the slight lift making his legs even longer and perfectly proportioned, even though the length of his legs often made him feel clumsy and too tall.

“Hold your head up high in those eh, love?”

And he had kissed him thank you. In the shop. In front of all the Japanese and American tourists.

And not cared. He felt no shame. He loved Robbie.

 

“What you doing out of bed pet? You’ll catch your death.” James private reverie was broken by the sound of the voice he loved best in the world, slightly gruffer and more northern for being full of sleep. He turned and saw Lewis sitting up, marvelling and that still fit torso, hardly any middle age spread at all, a dark dusting of mostly dark, but some greying and even white, hairs across that firm chest. James felt himself blush for looking, for wanting, for remembering...

“I was wondering if I boiled the kettle would it wake you?”

“I’m awake now. And I’ll have tea. Two sugars.”

“I know.”

“Aye, I know that,” Robbie grinned awkwardly, and James thought maybe he was a bit embarrassed too, and this big, sudden change, from friends to lovers, for all the change before, they had not, nothing but some cuddling and kissing, and now...

James ducked his head and flicked the switch. He heard the bed rock and then, a few seconds late, felt the firm, solid, reassuring presence of Robbie pressed up against him, leaning his face against his neck, feeling the huff of breath as Robbie said, rubbing one arm gently,

“Alright then bonny lad?”

James nodded and turned. He nodded again. “Happy.” And he let Robbie’s hand curl around the back of his hand and pull him down for a deep kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday dear baskervwatson x


End file.
